In an area far removed from the watchful eyes of Freya and Travis, a palpable tension hung in the air. Levis stood resolute, his gaze locked with Melrick's in a silent challenge that spoke volumes. The ground between them was a battlefield waiting to be christened, and the air was thick with the anticipation of the impending clash.
Melrick, driven by a pride that ran as deep as his lineage, refused to taint this duel with the crutch of enhancement or elemental magic. With a flourish of disdain, he dispelled his previously conjured spells, letting them dissipate into the ether. His eyes, now devoid of the arcane glow, bore into Levis as he charged forward, his pride propelling him faster than any enchantment ever could.
The dance of combat ensued, a ballet of blows and parries. Yet, it took only a handful of exchanges for a truth to unveil itself to Levis – without the weave of magic at his fingertips, Melrick was no more a threat than a shadow boxing with the light. Levis's mind wandered to his countless sparring sessions with Calvin and Jamale, battles that had honed his skills sharper than any blade. Fear was a stranger to him, but caution was a familiar companion. It was not Melrick whom he feared, but the eyes of the council that he felt piercing through the veil of secrecy. He had seen the glint of armor and the shadow of highly skilled elite soldiers who had been tailing him, their intentions as clear as the swords at their sides.
Thus, Levis held back, his strength reined in, his true power sheathed like a sword in its scabbard. He matched Melrick blow for blow, but always with a restraint that kept the scales tipped ever so slightly in Melrick's favor. It was a delicate balance, a performance worthy of the theater, where Levis played the part of the underdog, biding his time, waiting for the right moment to turn the tides when the eyes of the council looked away. For now, the fight would continue, a spectacle of feints and jabs, with Levis's mind as much on the battlefield as on the unseen watchers who might decide his fate.
The clash of wills between Melrick and Levis had reached a crescendo, the air around them charged with the raw energy of their duel. Melrick, ever the tactician, had maintained a steady upper hand throughout the battle. Yet, despite his strategic prowess, he found himself unable to deliver the final, decisive blow that would end the contest in his favor. It was a dance of fist and wits, and Melrick decided it was time to change the rhythm.
With a flourish that belied the tension of the moment, Melrick drew his weapon, the sound of steel on steel ringing out like a clarion call to arms. Levis responded in kind, his own blade singing as it left its sheath, the two future mages now fully committed to the duel's deadly ballet.
Melrick, with a subtlety born of years of combat as was usual withe the royals, began to weave a cunning ruse. He presented Levis with openings so slight, they were nearly invisible to the untrained eye. He moved with a deliberate clumsiness, feigning inexperience, all to bait Levis into revealing the true extent of his skill and power.
Levis, however, was consumed by his own strategy. His focus was singular, intent on ensuring Melrick's continued advantage. He believed that by doing so, he could keep Melrick from resorting to his magical abilities, which would undoubtedly escalate the duel to a level of complexity Levis wished to avoid.
But in this instance, Levis's usually keen insight failed him. He did not perceive the snare that Melrick had laid out with such finesse. His attention was too fixated on the physical contest, too preoccupied with maintaining the status quo, to notice the psychological warfare at play.
The duel continued, each moment stretching out, laden with anticipation and the unspoken emotions of two combatants locked in a struggle that was as much about mind as it was about might. Would Levis eventually see through Melrick's clever deception, or would Melrick's feigned vulnerabilities lead him to frustration in the heat of the moment.
Melrick's blood boiled with a seething rage, a visceral reaction to the cunning ruse Levis had so skillfully executed. His mind clouded with fury, Melrick lunged forward, his movements fueled by a potent blend of ferocity and a desire to bring the battle to a swift and decisive end. The air around him shimmered with the unintended invocation of enhancement spells, a testament to his raw, unbridled innate magic that he unleashed in his wrathful state his brain barely registering this act.
Levis, on the other hand, was the epitome of calm in the eye of the storm. His defense was like an impenetrable shield, a testament to his unwavering resolve and strategic foresight. It was as if he had foreseen every move, every spell, every ounce of anger that Melrick could muster, and had prepared an answer for it all.
Amidst the chaos, a keen-eyed spy observed from the shadows of the towering trees, their attention captured not by the spectacle of the duel but by the subtle details that others might miss. They noted, with a mix of awe and calculation, the true value of the weapons Levis bore—seven stars in their entirety, a formidable arsenal that could turn the tides of this conflict.
Melrick, blinded by his emotions, failed to notice the sleight of hand that had occurred. Levis had not come into battle with a mere two-star weapon as it appeared. Instead, he had secured Freya's original five star war hammer upon his back, a weapon of immense prestige and representation of power. This strategic exchange was more than a mere swapping of steel; it was a psychological ploy, a move designed to inspire Freya to greater heights. Levis had whispered words of motivation, igniting within her a determination to claim victory. A challenge to claim a weapon from Melrick's comrades, to prove her mettle and determination in the face of adversity.
The tension in the air was palpable, a tangible force that gripped the hearts of all who watched. Anticipation hung heavy as the clash continued, each moment stretching into eternity, each strike a potential endgame. The question on everyone's mind was clear: would Melrick's wrath be his undoing, or would it be the catalyst for his victory? And would Levis's strategic genius and unyielding defense secure his place as the master of the battlefield?
In the mist of the tumultuous battlefield, Melrick stood with his cloak billowing in the gusts summoned by his own hand. His eyes, reflecting the embers of daylight, were fixed on Levis, his adversary. Despite the enhancements coursing through his veins, amplifying his strength and agility, a gnawing doubt crept into his mind. Levis, with his exceptional combat skills, seemed an insurmountable opponent. Yet, Melrick was not one to yield; he called upon his elemental magic, the very essence of wind, to heed his command.
Levis, whose history with mages was limited to skirmishes with his brother Calvin, a fire mage of considerable renown, had never truly been tested in the art of magical combat. Their encounters, though intense, stopped short of all-out warfare. He knew the dance of flames, how to sidestep the searing touch of fire, but the capricious nature of wind was foreign to him. As Melrick's magic took form, small tornadoes spiraled into existence, their paths erratic and unpredictable. Levis found himself in a labyrinth of whirling air, each step a gamble against the tempest's wrath.
Determined to quell the burgeoning storm before it overwhelmed him, Levis's focus sharpened to a point. His mind became a repository of every scrap of knowledge he possessed about mages and their ways. He watched Melrick with the intensity of a hawk, waiting for the inevitable misstep, the crack in his opponent's armor.
And then, it happened. Melrick, with a flourish of his arms, conjured a double tornado, its power resonating through the ground and shaking the very trees that bordered their arena. He was confident, perhaps overly so, that this display of might would topple Levis, casting him aside like a ragdoll in the wind's furious embrace. But Melrick's inexperience betrayed him; the spell, though mighty, was flawed in its execution.
Levis, standing resolute between the converging cyclones, saw through the ruse. The tornados, bound by opposing forces, could not merge, creating a safe haven in their midst. It was a tactical error, a move that would have been devastating in another context, but in their duel, it was nothing short of a blunder. Melrick's spell, while draining his reserves, offered no real threat to a warrior of Levis's caliber.
Seizing the moment, Levis moved with the grace and precision of a seasoned fighter. He used the very winds that sought to displace him as a slingshot, propelling himself forward with calculated agility. In a fluid motion, he seized melrick six-star sword, its blade catching the light of day as it arced through the air. Melrick, still reeling from the exertion of his spell, could only watch as Levis who now possessed his sword prepared to deliver a blow that would echo through the annals of their people, a strike destined to end the battle with a single, decisive act. The air was thick with anticipation, the outcome of the duel hanging in the balance, a testament to the clash of elemental fury and martial discipline.